


Monster Week!

by LauranicusPond



Category: Hat Films - Fandom
Genre: Demons, Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, Prompt Week, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-08 02:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12245514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauranicusPond/pseuds/LauranicusPond
Summary: Short fics based on the Monster Week prompts





	1. Ghosts

“I'll do my best for you, Mrs Jones. Try and think of your husband, it might well help him come to us.” She nods, and Smith closes his eyes. He takes a deep, steadying breath and squeezes her hands reassuringly.

The room grows colder, and quieter. Smith hears Mrs Jones shift in her chair across the table from him. After a long minute, Smith feels a gentle tap on the back of his neck and he smiles.

“He’s here, Mrs Jones…” Smith opens his eyes, continuing calmly, “He wants you to know he’s here.”

Mrs Jones regards him a little doubtfully, but then she jumps and looks down at where their hands and held on the table. Smith looks down too, and back up, noting the goosebumps on her arms with an internal grin. Perfect.

“He wants you to know that he's not in pain… that he's happy where he is now,” Smith smiles at her, “but that he misses your baking.”

“Oh, is it my bakewell he misses, Alex? He always loved that.” Smith nods, Mrs Jones smiles back at him, holding his hands a little tighter.

“He says it's almost time to go, Mrs Jones. He says he loves you, and that he misses you…” Smith laughs softly, “but that you take your time getting to him, okay?” Mrs Jones laughs quietly too, looking down at the table and shaking her head fondly. “Oh, he has a final message for you…” Smith closes his eyes, “He wants you to know how touched he is that… Lauren?” Smith pauses, then nods, “That Lauren and Charlie named their boy after him…” Smith opens his eyes, looking over at Mrs Jones. She's misty eyed, staring at him. “Does that make sense, Mrs Jones? I don't understand what the spirits say, just pass the messages along.”

Mrs Jones nods, letting go of Smith’s hand suddenly to touch her cheek, looking around in surprise. Smith watches her, suppressing a smile.

“He’s gone now, Mrs Jones. Let me make you a cup of tea and we can have a little chat somewhere more comfy until you feel ready to leave.”

* * *

When Smith comes back into the ‘Reading Room’ as he’s taken to calling it, he's met with the figures of two pale men standing either side of the table, looking at him. The taller of the two wears a dark, pinstriped suit, and has black hair and thick black side-burns. The shorter one’s hair is a dull chestnut colour, swept to the side. He wears a lab coat, black soot marks streaking the sleeves and up the sides. Smith grins.

“Good work today guys! Trott, the kiss on the cheek was perfect, I think we should start working that in more often.”

Trott shrugs.

“I feel bad for the old ones. Tricking them feels meaner.”

“They're still technically talking to a spirit.”

“Not the one they think they're talking to though, is it mate?” Ross chimes in, idly pushing at the candle holder on the table, “it's two blokes they've never heard of. Feels like cheating.”

Smith sighs, turning to them.

“Look, I'm nicer than most of the cheaters out there. My rooms are nicer, I'll give them a cup of tea and time to talk if they want to after, and I'm a hell of a lot cheaper. Besides,” Smith leans forward and blows the candle out before Ross can knock it over, “I've tried communicating with other ghosts. It only works with you two.”

Smith rubs at a spot on the tablecloth a little self consciously. Trott glances at Ross, then moves forward to Smith’s side.

“I suppose if I'm going to be kissing cheeks, I better get some practice in.” He says, and kisses Smith’s cheek.

Smith smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So begins Monster Week!
> 
> The idea of real ghosts helping a semi-fake medium was so funny to me that I couldn't not write it


	2. Witches

Ross checks the address in his notebook twice.

_The Parsonage_  
_Lature village_

Not even a postcode. He sighs, types the village name into the Sat Nav, and sets off. The drive is nice once he gets out of the city centre, and nicer still when he's out onto the country roads. He drives with the windows down, enjoying the crisp autumn air. It takes Ross about half an hour to get to the village. He parks up, gets out, and heads into the pub.

“Excuse me, I'm looking for the Parsonage?” Ross says to the bartender. She barely has time to look up from the pint she's pulling before the older man sitting at the bar interrupts.

“Off to see the witch are you, son?”

“The witch?”

“Oh, just ignore him.” The bartender sets the pint down with a thump on the bar in front of the older man and turns back to Ross with a smile. “Go back out the front, face right, and walk down the lane until you get to the graveyard wall. Follow the wall leftways until you get to the Parsonage.”

 

* * *

 

Christopher Trott isn't exactly what Ross expected. With his hair up in a bun, his long cardigan, and his bare feet, Trott looks more hippy than spooky.

“Do you take sugar, Constable?”

He's also making them tea.

“Oh, uh, just one please. And a little milk, thank you.”

Ross waits, perched on the sofa. Trott’s house, or what Ross has seen of it, isn't very witchy either. He brings them both back their mugs and settles himself on the other sofa, opposite Ross.

“So, how can I help you, Police Constable Hornby?” He asks, smiling.

“Word in the pub is that you're a witch, Mr Trott.”

Trott laughs and shakes his head fondly.

“I do readings. Tarot and palms. I occasionally give advice on herbal remedies and teas, that sort of thing.” Trott looks at him carefully for a moment before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But I feel like you already knew that.”

“Some of the locals say that you’ve done spells for them. Magic.”

“Are you accusing me of something, Police Constable?”

“Can you? Do spells? Help people?”

Trott looks at him intently. Ross holds his gaze, trying hard not to blink. His heart pounds in his chest.

“How can I help _you_?”

Ross reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a photograph. He sighs softly and sets it on the table, pushing it toward Trott so that he can see. Trott picks it up, studying it before putting it back down on the table.

“What’s his name?”

Ross swallows, looking at the upside down face on the photo. He takes a slow breath and then meets Trott’s gaze once again.

“That's Alex Smith. He's been missing for two years and three months and I need you to help me find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pubs are like the information centres of villages I swear
> 
> I like to think that Trott lives in a little cottage Parsonage that no longer has a church, just the graveyard, and maybe some ruins


	3. Undead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's set in the same Universe as (coincidentally) the third day of my Advent prompts from last year, so if you wanna read that one first, it might make a little more sense!

“This is dumb, Trott. I'm bored. I could be in bed.” Smith huffs, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall.

“It's pay and a half.”

“It's dumb and a half.”

Trott rolls his eyes.

“Look, we get made up, put in clothes, and then we stand around in the back of shot looking dead. Tomorrow we get back to standing around out of shot.”

“Still.” Smith grumbles.

“Alex Smith?” The PA calls, beckoning Smith up into the portacabins. “Just take a seat, the make-up artist will be right back.”

Smith settles himself into the chair, leaning forward to look at the bottles and palettes on the shelf in front of the mirror. There are printed out pictures of various types of zombie stuck around the sides of the mirror, for reference, Smith guesses.

“Sorry, just needed to wash the brush- oh!”

Smith looks up into the mirror and meets Ross’ gaze. Oh.

“Ross! Hi!”

“I didn't know you were acting now, Alex.” Ross smiles, turning Smith in the chair and gathering a few face paint palettes closer to him, “I'm just gonna start, I hope that's okay. There's a lot of you to get through!”

“Oh, yeah, go ahead.” Smith nods, then blinks in surprise as Ross cups his chin.

“Try not to move your head too much.” He says, starting to paint white onto Smith’s skin.

“Sorry… I um, I'm not acting. Me and Trott are sound crew but they roped us in as extras today. Well, Trott agreed on behalf on both of us. I'd rather be in bed.”

“Try being here since five in the morning,” Ross laughs, “Close your eyes.”

Smith shuts his eyes and tries not to think about how he likes when Ross tells him what to do.

“Besides,” Ross continues, “if you were in bed, you wouldn't get to hang out with me. This is going to feel weird.”

Smith screws up his nose as Ross puts something cold and sticky across his cheek.

“What is it?”

“Just fake blood. Shut your mouth.”

Smith closes his mouth, shifting in his chair. Trott would never let him live it down if he got a boner from this. Ross smears what Smith assumes is more fake blood over and around his mouth and down his chin.

“Done. You can open your eyes now, by the way.”

Ross steps out of the way as Smith opens his eyes and sees himself in the mirror, pale and bloody and decidedly undead looking.

“Wow…” Smith leans forward to look closer at his reflection.

“It's not great, but it'll do for a rush job.” Ross grins, patting Smith’s shoulder.

Smith stands up, tugging his shirt down self-consciously. Ross guides him to the door.

“Go on, I'll come and find you later. Maybe I can make getting out of bed worth your while.” Ross grins and winks at him.

Smith’s glad the white make-up hides his blush. Trott’s never ever going to let him live this down. Ever. 


	4. Werewolves

Trott wakes up with Ross’ arm slung protectively over his chest, and Smith plastered up against his side, his hot breath ghosting over Trott's neck. There's a flickering moment of blinding relief that they're both back with him before Trott realises how fucking hot he is. He pushes the covers back and untangles himself from their limbs, crawling out of the bed. Smith whines softly, and Trott dithers about getting back in, but Ross shifts over and wraps his arms around Smith. Trott stands and watches until he's sure they're both asleep again.

In the hallway, Trott gathers Smith and Ross’ filthy clothes from the bucket by the front door. They're muddy and soaking wet. Trott sighs, slinging them into the washing machine. He’d be worried that they'd get sick but that just… doesn't seem to happen any more. Trott sets the washing machine running and puts the kettle on. He glances at the clock on the microwave. 07:38. Trott's got at least four hours before Smith and Ross are awake, he thinks. He resolves to have some breakfast and try and get some work done, because Christ knows he won't have a chance to when they're awake.

 

* * *

 

Trott hears Smith’s heavy footsteps even through his headphones, and looks up at the doorway expectantly. Smith plods into view, naked and sleepy. He stops in the doorway, smiling.

“Found you.”

“I wasn't hiding, sunshine.” Trott smiles back, pushing his headphones off and getting up.

“Mm, but you weren't in bed.” Smith wraps his arms around Trott, nuzzling his neck.

“Unlike some, I wasn't up all night.” Trott grins, “Some of us have to work.”

Smith huffs a laugh against Trott’s skin and pulls back.

“Ross is making food. C’mon.”

Trott lets Smith pull him back to the kitchen. The clock in the hallway next to their phases of the moon chart tells him it's already half two. In the kitchen, Ross is frying bacon and eggs and bread. Smith’s stomach rumbles loudly.

“That smells good…” Smith lets go of Trott’s hand to go and press up against Ross, peering over his shoulder at the frying pan.

“Trott first, greedy. You know that.”

“I don't mind.” Trott says, leaning on the counter and folding his arms over his chest. “Smith can have first plate.”

“Trott first.” Ross repeats, catching Trott’s eye and grinning, flashing his pointed canines. He turns to nip at Smith’s jaw. “Make tea?”

Smith pulls away with a little whine, but goes to gather mugs and teabags. Trott watches Ross cook. Of the two of them, Ross keeps the most wolf about him in his human form. His strength and his teeth and the patches of grey in his hair. The tendency to wander around the house naked. Trott’s glad Ross has an apron on. Smith sets a mug of tea down next to Trott, and a plate of food joins it quickly.

“Me now.” Smith grins, turning to Ross.

Ross shifts the frying pan handle safely out of the way and turns. He easily presses Smith up against the kitchen counter, pinning his hands against the countertop. Ross growls playfully, leaning to murmur into Smith’s ear. Trott watches them over the brim of his mug until Smith’s hips start to shift against Ross,

“Okay! Eating! None of that in the kitchen while I'm eating!”

“That is definitely not what you've said in the past.” Smith laughs, and then whines when Ross pulls away, “Aw…”

Ross shrugs, smiling.

“Do you want your breakfast or not, Smith?”

 

* * *

 

By the time they've eaten, washed up, put the dishes away, and are sprawled together on the couch watching TV, it's almost five. An hour and a half until sunset. Trott strokes Smith’s hair idly.

“Do you want to go to the park tonight?” Trott asks.   
  
“Park sounds good.” Ross mumbles around a mouthful of toast. Trott makes a mental note to add bread to the shopping list.

Smith snores.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

* * *

 

Trott throws the ball as hard as he can and watches them bolt off after it until they disappear into the darkness. He settles himself more comfortably on the hard wooden bench. These days are his favourite days of the wolfy part of the month. The couple of days after the full moon where they're more like big dogs than anything else. Playful and friendly and still very much themselves despite the ears and tails. The days leading up they're always a little on edge. Smith yells more than usual in videos, Ross spends most of his spare time at the gym. Trott doesn't even see them on the day of the full moon. They leave the day before and come back the day after and Trott’s given up asking where they go. They had each other before they had him and he knows that they'll be careful.

Ross runs back up with the ball in his mouth, Smith close behind him. He drops it at Trott’s feet and looks up at him expectantly.

“Good boy…” Trott grins, scratching Ross’ head. He barks, and Trott picks up the ball once more. “Okay, okay!”

He throws it, and watches them run off again into the park. A jogger stops next to the bench to catch her breath and have a drink of water, and Trott smiles at her when she nods a greeting.

“Gorgeous dogs.” She says, panting. “What are they, huskies?”

Trott looks back out at his boys in the moonlight, chasing each other across the grass, and smiles.

“Something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy full moon guys! I managed to write a werewolf story that wasn't set on the full moon, on the day of the full moon.


	5. Demons

Smith wipes the sweat off his forehead and orders another drink. The plastic cup is wet with condensation, and Smith is grateful for the ice cold temperature of the Coke as he knocks it back. The vodka helps too. Smith turns to lean his back up against the bar, looking out at the crowd of people dancing. He catches sight of Trott on the other side of the room, grinding up against some girl, and sighs. He orders another drink and downs it as quickly as the first. How many has he had now, he wonders. He lost track somewhere in the past couple hours.

Smith moves away from the bar. He figures he'll dance some more and then go home. As he heads back toward the crowd, he catches someone's elbow and knocks their drink to the floor.

“Shit! Shit, I'm sorry!”

“Don't worry about it. It was shit anyway.”

Smith looks up from the spill to the man he's talking to, and his breath catches in his throat. He’s gorgeous. Almost as tall as Smith is, with dark spiky hair and pale skin. He's obviously strong too, Smith can see the muscles in his arms and chest. He realises suddenly that he's staring and this man’s chest, and flicks his gaze back to the guy’s face. He’s smiling, visibly amused.

“Uh. D’you want me to get you another one?”

“Dance with me.”

“Huh?”

“Come on.” He takes Smith’s hand and pulls him out onto the floor.

It's hot, and sticky, and sweaty, and Smith’s two double vodkas both hit him at the same time and make his head spin, but he doesn't care. This tall, gorgeous man is pressed up against his back and Smith doesn't care about anything but that. He’s talking into Smith’s ear and Smith can't make out all the words but he understands the tone of his voice and the grind of his hips against Smith’s ass. Smith turns and kisses him. He loses track of time, aware of just the beat of the music and the movement of their bodies.

“Outside.” He murmurs, taking Smith’s hand again and leading him out of the crowd.

They make their way up a set of stairs and through a door and a room and a door and then they're outside. The cold air makes Smith shiver and his crosses his arms over his chest. His shirt is soaked, the burgundy fabric turned a deep maroon. His new friend’s shirt is equally wet, clinging and see through. Smith swallows his desire to sink to his knees and beg to suck this guy off and instead leans against the balcony railing, trying to look nonchalant.

“What’s your name?”

He looks Smith up and down.

“You can call me Ross. What’s yours?”

“Smith.” Ross raises an eyebrow, “Alex Smith. No one really calls me Alex though.”

“Why are you here tonight, Alex Smith?”

“I uh, I got dumped.” He shrugs awkwardly, looking down, “Came with a friend who fucked off with some girl… so I got a bit drunk. And then you.”

Perhaps Smith’s more than a bit drunk. He frowns at his feet as they sway in his vision. Ross’ hand, cool and calming, cups Smith’s chin and lifts his head gently. His eyes are very blue, Smith thinks. They gaze at each other for a long moment before Ross shifts closer, trailing a fingertip over Smith’s cheek.

“I was going to take your soul tonight, Alex Smith. Bring you out here and have you make some deal or other in return for your soul.”

“Excuse me?!” Smith pulls back, blinking in surprise.

“It's what I do.” Ross shrugs. “But soul-less people are so boring. You seem interesting.”

“Um, thank you?”

Ross laughs, stepping forward. He watches Smith, giving him time to pull away before moving into Smith’s personal space, cupping his cheek.

“Besides, you're very good looking. I can't believe anyone would dump you.” He kisses Smith again. Smith kisses back.

The door to the balcony slams open and Ross pulls back, sighing in frustration.

“What is it, Sips? I'm busy.”

“There's a fight. Two boys over one girl.” Sips pulls a lighter and a cigarette out of his pocket. “Seems like a good package deal to me.” He lights up and blows a stream of smoke into the air, looking at Smith curiously.

Ross looks from Sips to Smith and back again, before pressing a quick kiss to Smith’s lips and stepping away.

“Work.” He shrugs apologetically. “Come again tomorrow? I'll be here.”

Smith nods.

“Great.” Ross’ smile is so big it makes Smith smile too.

“Boss…” Sips says from the door, “This is cute but… fight, souls, boys, girls…”

Ross rolls his eyes at Smith and then turns to Sips.

“Let's go make some deals.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it was that Smith was left alone on a balcony with an awkward boner and Ross' number in his pocket some how. 
> 
> Idek this one got away from me a bit to be honest.


End file.
